Violets are Blue
by Whiterabbit008
Summary: The wonderful world of semivenom
1. Chapter 1

I am a miracle. Or that's what Alice says, at least. As far as anyone knew, it was impossible for a vampire to procreate. My father is a vampire, stuck at 17 since 1918. His relationship with my mother is unique because she is not a vampire like him or any of my other adoptive aunts and uncles. Like me, though, she is no human. Because venom is responsible for my creation, I was born a sort of semi-vampire, possessing characteristics of both species. I shared my distinctive blood with my mother in the womb, and she became like me. Although we age over time, it's a process that we can easily control by succumbing to the parts of us that are immortal and revel in blood. The thrill of the hunt rejuvenates my mother, hardening her age to a permanent twenty-two.

Even in firm control of my desires, though, even acting as human as possible, I still age much more slowly than my human classmates. I have to change schools a lot. In reality, I am twenty-four, but I carry the body of a sixteen-year-old instead. The difference in my actual age and appearance is remote now, but given time, the gap would multiply immeasurably.

It's raining today, and the scent of wet asphalt hits my nose while exiting my gunsmoke-colored coupe. I'm forced to rearrange my books when Aaron surprises me just outside the high school's front doors. My nose isn't as strong as a full-fledged vampire, and it's difficult to detect human scents when it rains and the scent of fresh, wet vegetation permeates the air.

"Hey Violet, did you finish the biology homework?"

_Of course_ _Aaron wouldn't have done it_, I think. _He's always procrastinating, putting work off until the last minute!_

"Yep," I answer, a bit of a lecturing edge drifting into my tone. "You know, if you think I'm going to let you copy it, you're wrong. You're never going to pass your biology midterm slacking off."

"I know." He purposely let disappointment color his voice. "But I probably would have just gotten the answers wrong anyway. I'm no good with science."

"Well, I'll bargain, then. You can use my notes, but you're not allowed to copy my paper." He sighs. He knows it's pointless to argue when I'm in a lecturing mood. I can tell that he's glad to at least have received permission to use my notes. We both walk toward the east side of the school and then part ways so that he can go to his algebra class and I to advanced art.

Carrying a canvas and a paper plate splattered with day-old oil paints, I take a seat in the back of the art room. I'll be able to dabble in my developing painting undisturbed. The assignment is to create a self-portrait, but I look odd standing in front of my interpretation of the Hoh Rainforest, where I spend summers in a beautiful, old, ivory house with my family. Tendrils are snaking delicately around branches as if ready to strike and pull my portrait-self back into the trees and brush with them. My dark hair is a cloud around my pale features, dark ocher eyes staring back at me from under arched eyebrows. The setting seems so natural to me, but I just can't place what's wrong with the image of myself. I begin to use my fingernail to chip away at the layers of caked on paint on the table next to me. My thoughts drift away from my painting, distracted by the way the green water is swirling around a paintbrush in a nearby jar.

Suddenly, a familiar scent hits my nose. I distinctly detect that there is a vampire nearby, but my family doesn't visit me at school. They tend to be conspicuous, especially my parents, who practically look like my peers. Only an emergency elicits a visit. My ears perked up, hearing the shuffling of nearby feet. Even in a crisis, someone in my family would realize that I would have already picked up the scent and come to meet them in the hall. Horrible images run through my mind as I imagine what sorts of horrible things would warrant this lack of common sense.

Then, he enters the room. Although I recognize all the common features of a vampire, this is not someone that I've met before, let alone someone with whom I've "grown up." He looks to be about seventeen physically. He hands a slightly crumpled piece of paper to Mrs. Summers, who examines it briefly before setting it on her desk and returning to talking to a student about the width of his brushstrokes. She barely notices him, and neither does anyone else, consumed by their own self-portraits. The mystery boy turns to examine the room and notices me staring. He eyes me warily, then turns back as if he's about to take a step toward the other end of the room. Just then, I barely notice his nose twitch. He's picked out my scent from the other students, and I can tell he's surprised. We both stare at each other for one long moment, before his features relax again into a nonchalant, apathetic expression.

A new student was not uncommon. There were at least a dozen or so every year, and they generally didn't catch my interest. Another vampire in the school was uncommon, though. Although I've never known anything other than the "vegetarian" lifestyle my family leads, I know that most vampires are nomads who prefer to submit to their urges. The idea of a vampire even bothering with high school was boggling, even though my parents and pseudo aunts and uncles have all been through it (diplomas being one of the few documents that they've received legally), most of them more than once.

He took a seat in a corner, opening an art history book. Although he stared intently at the page, his eyes never moved to indicate that he was following a line of text. He kept up that rouse until the sound of the bell ringing shattered my thoughts and brought me back to reality. I hastily started putting away my equipment. I was half-watching the new boy, so I managed to bump my head on the edge of a table after crouching to pick my books up off the floor. My hand flew to where I'd injured myself, but the touch only sent a fresh wave of throbbing pain through my skull. Instead, my hand fluttered over my bump, unsure of what to do before repurchasing my hold on my books. Even though I sometimes moved with the grace of a semi-vampire, I had my clumsy moments, inherited from my mother.

French class passed slowly, my mind trying to wrap around conjugations while I thought about the vampire boy. I want the opportunity to speak to him, but part of me is anxious in an ominous way because I've never had a conversation with a vampire stranger before. Lunch is the perfect time to do it, but maybe it's better to wait until he's been here a little longer, if he plans to stay. I can at least wait until my nerves are settled and I'm used to the idea.

Pondering what I would even say on my way to the cafeteria, I finger the dollar bills in my pocket. I scan the room for Aaron, and there the new boy is, mere feet away from me, eyeing me intensely.

"What _are_ you?" he asks. For a moment, I'm completely flabbergasted, frozen in place. I manage to eek out a small sound, not at all sounding like the coherent words I wish I could speak. I shake my head as if to clear my head from a fog and clear my throat.

"Do you always greet people by inquiring about their species?" I managed to form not only words, but a full sentence, and I couldn't be happier. "Well Hello, my name is Violet, and it's nice to meet you, too." Dry sarcasm glides off my tongue. He raises an eyebrow in response.

"Lucien. But you're not quite human, are you?" He sounds slightly intrigued, betrayed by his placid features.

"And?" I inquired in return, a little annoyed.

"And I'm curious to know what you are. But perhaps you would like to sit?"

Despite my annoyance, I have to admit that I'm curious about him, too, not knowing much about vampires outside of my family. I sign and agree to sit with him. Aaron will survive a day without my company.

To any full-fledged human, Lucien's face would be startling, with beautiful, crystalline skin covering a marvelous bone-structure both fierce in its angles and soft in its intense beauty. His dark, russet hair is slightly mussed, occasionally tumbling just above his serious topaz eyes. I'm used to the startling beauty, being part of a family of vampires and even being a partial vampire myself. However, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something unusual about his face. I almost wonder if I'm staring at a carefully crafted mask, chiseled to perfection and adding a shallowness to his vampire's ocher-colored eyes. The eyes of my family were deep pools of topaz that held the flickers of every emotion; his were flat and offered me no insight into his feelings.

I clear my throat again. I decide to let him begin this conversation, an awkwardness settling over my stomach.

"You smell human, but then, you have a different note to your scent as well. I can't place it, but you don't exactly seem like food to my senses," he explains, gesturing with his hand while he speaks. He assumes that I know what he is, unconcerned with the idea of discussing the truth of his identity while in my presence. Still, he speaks quietly so that no one else can overhear.

"Well, yes, I'm partly human, so it's only natural that I would have blood. I also have a semi-venom in my veins as well. It makes me a little more vampire," I respond.

His eyebrow shoots up again. "Well yes, you have notes of a vampire's scent in your pores, but how does one become a semi-vampire? In my experience, even the smallest amount of venom eventually spreads to the whole body of a human."

"I didn't 'become' one. I was born this way." Lucien's eyes become wide with shock, letting his carefully nonchalant demeanor slip. He opens his mouth, as if to question me further, only to close it again. I silently wished to know his thoughts about that, cursing that I couldn't have inherited my father's mind reading talents. Unfortunately, venom was not designed for reproduction. It's empty of hereditary information, so all of my traits come from my mother's side. Venom is barely even an enabler for cells to divide, shocking them into doing so more than anything else. That's why Alice calls me a miracle; it was one chance in a million that the venom catalyzed reproduction. Most of the time, it's fruitless to a human female.

Lucien finally finished selecting the words to question me further. "You have parents? Vampire parents?"

"Vampire _parent_," I correct. "My mother is like me: a hybrid of sorts." I explain it a little more for him, though I skipped through some parts. Talking about your parents in an intimate way is uncomfortable, part vampire or not.

My stomach rumbles. I hadn't realized how hungry I was while skipping lunch to talk to this vampire boy.

"How is it that you eat human food? Do you even drink blood?" he asks.

"Well, yes, but it's difficult." His face twists slightly, as if pleading for me to explain it. I sigh in response. "I have blood of my own, so I don't generally feel the urge to go out rampaging in the city. Mostly, I just eat regular food. Vampires use blood for energy, though, and I steadily use up small amounts of it. If I don't drink, not only do I hunger for blood, I also have trouble thinking clearly."

Standing up, I almost begin walking to the cafeteria kitchen to buy myself a slice of pizza, but I'm stopped dead in my tracks by the loud bell in the cafeteria. My expression becomes defeated as I realize that lunchtime has come and gone. I reach for my bag, but Lucien is holding it out for me to take. I take in his flat eyes, and sling my bag over my shoulder.

Somehow, I know that I'm never going to finish my self-portrait with Lucien there to distract me.


	2. Chapter 2

_I decided to revive this story, which I previously left to rot—poor thing._

_I made an effort to explain the semivenom thing a little more in this chapter. I also explored Violet's character more, since I pretty much jumped right into things in chapter one. The pace will probably pick up in chapter three. Tell me what you think!_

**Chapter 2:**

Feeling around in my bag for keys, I stand outside the bright, red front door of my house. This is the sixth house I've lived in, excluding the house in Forks where I sometimes live in the summers. Having recovered my keys, I jam the silver house key in the lock and head inside. I take a moment to take off my shoes, which are wet from stepping in puddles, and set my bag down at the foot of the staircase. Moving through the front hall, I pass family pictures hanging from nails: Alice, Jasper, Emmett and Rosalie sitting on the porch in Forks; me as an infant, playing with a rubber duck; my parents in front of an old, red truck before I was born, wearing the kind of smiles that people have when they're truly happy, not just posing for a picture. The dozens of faces smile up at me from beneath shining glass.

At the end of the hallway the kitchen opens up, which becomes the living room to my left. The hardwood floor creaks underfoot as I move to open the refrigerator. There is a lot of fresh fruit inside, but it's not what I'm searching for. I pull out a sealed pitcher. Pulling a thermos out of a cabinet, I begin to pour the thick, crimson liquid in the pitcher. I put the thermos in the microwave, set it for two minutes and return the pitcher to the refrigerator, sealing the lid back up. It's a little saddening how mundane my drinking habits are. I hardly ever hunt fresh blood.

Sighing, I decide to call my mom while I wait for the microwave. I reach for the phone hanging on the kitchen wall and dial the number to her cell phone. She picks up after only one ring.

"Hey Vi, I'm at the grocery" she says, her voice a little muffled by the reception.

"Okay," I answer.

"You sound a little weak. How are you feeling?" I can almost hear her mouth turning down at the corners, forming a frown mothers often get when they're worried. She has good reason to suspect that I would be weak; after my energy reserves of blood are exhausted, my body slowly begins to convert to feeding on my own blood. My body also feeds off of the food I eat for energy, so the process is slow, but it could still be potentially dangerous over time. The feeling is somewhat like the dizziness a human would experience after donating blood.

"A little lightheaded," I admit. I shake my head to ward off the vertigo beginning to settle in. "But hey, do you want to get some late lunch with me?"

"Sure, I can meet you down at the bakery in about twenty minutes."

"Okay, thanks mom. When is dad coming back?" He's visiting in Forks.

"Probably later tonight."

I say goodbye to my mom and go to the microwave to retrieve my thermos. I take one, long gulp from the hot liquid and seal the lid shut. Returning to the front hallway, I ascend the stairs. My bedroom is on the right, and I push the door open to reveal the stark walls of my room. We never really did any painting, because we'd just have to paint it all white again before moving. The most colorful element in my room is the comforter strewn over my queen-sized bed, covered with a red toile design and filled with goose down. The elegant scenes in the fabric had often been inspirations for my artwork.

Plopping down sideways across my blanket, I trace the delicate metalwork of my footboard. Light filters through my sheer curtains as the rain lets up, creating a hazy effect. The blinds are partly drawn, casting lines on the walls and on my body; all of the other shadows in my room are trapped by the makeshift bars.

I still have a while before I have to leave to meet my mother at the bakery, which is only about ten blocks away, a short walk for a semi-vampire. I think I'll lie here a little longer, letting tendrils of sunlight leap through my windowpane to meet my face. The heat feels wonderful against my skin, as if the warmth is emanating from my bones. I can feel myself start to smile.

I open my eyes again and realize that I'm still lightheaded. Forcing myself up with my right arm, I grab my thermos and take another swig. I should probably leave for the bakery if I want to walk at a leisurely, still human-like pace.

Darting back downstairs, I slip my shoes back on, put my cell phone in my pocket, and lock the door as I leave.

I can smell fresh bread from home in the morning, when it's baking. The bakery is a small building that must have been a house at some point. The red siding is old and chipped. There are long, glass windows running along the front now, with large words painted in white promising fresh pastries, sandwiches, and coffee. My mom is sitting at a small round table to my left, in front of the window. She smiles warmly when she sees me and rests her chin on her fist. There are two sandwiches already sitting on the table. I sit and begin to unwrap one of them.

"You might have finished that at home," she says, pointing out the thermos I've just set on the table. I shake my head.

"I was distracted. Besides, I finished most of it on the way here." Humans generally can't detect the scent of blood in the air, and even if they could, they probably wouldn't suspect that's what's in my container. I'm usually careful, though, sticking to drinking blood at home, but I sometimes bring it with me if I'm dizzy and have somewhere to go. I take a bite of my sandwich, letting the taste of sourdough, vegetables, cheese, condiments, and deli meat overlap the taste of reheated blood.

"So, is there something you wanted to talk about? It kind of seemed like you were worried on the phone." My mom has a knack for perception, which is only enhanced by the semivenom.

"Well, yes, it's about this new boy at school," I begin to explain after I've swallowed. My mom raises an eyebrow, still patient but a little surprised by the topic I thought was so urgent. I can practically see the ideas surfacing in her head now. I wave my hands to disperse any ideas she might have about me and a crush.

"It's nothing like that," I say. "It's more that he's…well, he's not a human." I practically whisper the last words of the sentence, but I don't lean in any closer, knowing that she can hear me perfectly over the chatter of a nearby group.

"Another vampire?" she asks, much calmer than I expected. "That's odd. But then, you and I haven't really met that many. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about, assuming that he leads a similar lifestyle to our own." And she was sure of this fact, I know, because a vampire wouldn't bother to go to school with their intended food. I nodded. In the midst of my mother's calm, it suddenly seemed much less important. I looked down at the wood grain in the table for a moment before taking another bite of my sandwich. My mom did the same.

Sometimes on cloudy days, Alice and Esme come to lunch with my mom and me, bypassing the human food, of course. I value the time I spend with them, chatting as girls like to do when they get together. Rosalie usually prefers to stay at home, bypassing the mundane acts humans generally spend so much time on. I have always suspected that she is resentful of my mom, who is able to be a vampire and a human, too. I wonder if Rosalie would have had children if she had stayed human. My mom gets many of the rewards of being a vampire without some of the downfalls. Simply being in the sunlight in a public setting is something I can never do with the rest of my family. My body is very firm and flexible like bamboo, but my skin lacks the diamond-like solidity of a vampire, solidity that means glittering in bright light.

I sip at the last of my blood, rolling the thick liquid with my tongue before swallowing it, savoring it. I wish I could have more than just a half-full thermos, but having any more blood than I need for clarity would slow my aging process to a half-hearted crawl. One day, I suppose I'll switch to mostly blood, catering to my vampire side and allowing it to eclipse my humanity—but I have no intent of stopping at the appearance of sixteen. I want people to take me seriously.

Time passes, the clock on the wall behind me ticking obnoxiously. My mom didn't feel the need to fill space with empty-headed conversation. She could see that I was thinking, and she left me to think freely. I loved that quality about her. I noticed that her sandwich was only a fourth of the way consumed, but she had stopped eating. I threw the last bite of sourdough into my mouth, empty of fillings that had fallen out all over my napkin. I tried to pick up the mélange of veggies to eat them, but most of it fell from the grasp of my fingers half-way to my mouth. I was left with only a scrap of lettuce to show for my efforts.

I tried again, and I could hear my mom snickering at my attempts.

"You ready to go home?" she asked me. I could tell from her voice that she was anxious to get home, to see if my father was there yet.

I smile in response and nod. We head for her sleek, aqua sedan and speed off toward the sanctity of home, the only place where I can be open about myself, who—and what—I am.


End file.
